Curious Investigations
by LilyandIvy
Summary: Certain questions raise certain investigations, and when certain people are involved, the outcome is anything but certain. Certainly no romance or fluff in these pages, I swear. And though the characters are Kyoko and Sho, this narrative is not theirs.
1. Chapter 1

I do not expect you to sympathize with me.

I am, after all, a freak of nature, and the evolutionary weak link.

I cannot do what you all can do so easily, what you call love.

But I do expect you to be able to read the following account with unbiased eyes. To do anything else would show a lack of professionalism. Though I do realize that a great deal of you are most likely teenagers and therefore have never even entered the adult world yet, and so do not have any reason to be professional. Nevertheless, I will ignore your cringes and whispers. I can expect nothing less, I suppose.

* * *

"Mogami-san! Mogami-san! Mogami-san!"

"I hear you perfectly well, Taniguchi-san. You do not need to yell quite so loud."

"Pardon me for my enthusiasm, ma'am. However, the CEO has asked you to meet him tomorrow at ten o'clock in the conference room! And I've heard news that he's about to promote someone from our branch! Maybe you'll become his secretary, ma'am!"

_Secretary? _How on earth did this _girl _think that being a secretary would be considered a _promotion_? Admittedly, Taniguchi Ami, _my_ secretary, would most likely consider it an insult to have her profession if I voiced such opinions aloud, but the fact remained. Secretary was no title I ever wanted to hold, having my sights and ambition set on the pinnacle of the corporation. If this meeting tomorrow was for a promotion to a secretary, I would decline. I was the manager of quality control in the Kyoto branch of Fushin Inc., and was never going to settle for anything less than a management position. Taking orders and filling out meaningless paperwork was something I had avoided for as long as I had made my way through the corporate ladder, and I had no intention of succumbing to it now.

"Thank you for telling me, Taniguchi-san. I will meet with him tomorrow. Good night."

Before she could even reply with her usual hasty response of "Good night, Mogami-san", I had already hung up.

The next morning I was presented to the conference room door, guided in by his assistant. He looked up from the paper in front of him, a memo from his associate in Germany, I saw from the heading. He was an older gentleman, and though his appearance was that of a kindly grandfather or gentle benefactor, he had a reputation throughout the business world as a shark with the flawless skills of a practiced politician. I had heard of many accounts, though it is not possibe to discern what is fact and what fabrication, of many deals made and broken with the subtle tilt of his head. Such was the power of our CEO. But his smile came easily and naturally, and he had not a shred of scandal to his name, despite his aging and homely wife. Whether the lack of gossip was due to truly upstanding love for his wife, or if he was simply discreet in his love affairs was unknown, and truly, I did not care. All I wanted from him was to know what I had been called in for.

Since Fushin Kyoto was not that powerful of a group, especially compared to Fushin Tokyo or Fushin Fukuoka, the home of the international group Fushin Inc., I had wondered why the CEO of Fushin Japan had come for a visit here, and not even for leisure. Of course I heard some of the rumors, despite my efforts to stay away from my coworkers. What seemed apparent, even to such insipid talents as Taniguchi-san, was that someone here was soon to be promoted. The fact that I was called into the second conference room, which had served as the man's office in the week he had been here, served to strengthen my secretary's opinion that _I _would be the one promoted.

"Ah, Mogami-san. Thank you for taking the time to come in here. Please, sit down."

Nodding once, I sat in the leather chair across from his. He set his memo face-down on the table, and laced his fingers together, looking straight at me. I met his gaze without flinching, not yielding to his power or experience. I was stronger than the flitting interns and weak-willed assistants whom he was expecting me to imitate. He would not find me bowing or scraping to him. If he wanted my respect, he would have to earn it. And even then, I would not defer to him by looking away when he gazed at me.

Smiling slightly at my unapologetic response, he gestured to the stack of papers to his left.

"These are your employee evaluations from the past twelve years, starting from when you were an accountant in the quality control section. If you would remember, Kishimoto-san was the manager then, and your superior."

"I remember him well, yes," I said, reigning in my disgust for the man. A philanthropist at heart, he had been indicted of insurance fraud so he could squeeze a few thousand extra yen from the company to give to a charity. He was currently serving twenty years in the Kyoto Correctional Center. His successor had a better control over his personal life, but his unfortunate liking for cigars gave him an early grave at forty-nine years of age three years ago. After his demise, I succeeded him, age thirty-one then, young for a manager.

"Despite his many faults, Kishimoto-san regards you very well here, even from the beginning. All his evaluations praise your hardworking work ethic and no-nonsense attitude. He does express trepidation at your, ah…regrettable decision to stay single, but otherwise says that your presence is, and I quote from his January 1995 evaluation, "a refreshing change to the normally empty-headedness of many of our new female recruits". At the time of his incarceration, he had plans for approaching you of a promotion to his personal secretary."

_Saved by Lady Justice_, I regarded, and my distaste must have trickled into my facial expression, because his smile widened.

"After Tsuru-san's untimely death, you were unanimously decided by the board to succeed him, and have kept your department one of the sanest and organized floors of the building. All of the employees you have hired have interesting future prospects and an exceptional educational background.

"Now, tell me, Mogami-san," he leaned in forward, "Why do you put so much effort into this?"

"Excuse me, sir? Am I not supposed to put effort into my job?"

"No, no, no, of course we all appreciate your efforts. I merely find it odd that someone of your talents is not using them to further your name in the corporation. Many of your peers do so, as a way to ensure a faster promotion."

_Are you referring to the idiots who can never seem to get anything done? _But I didn't say that aloud, instead saying, "I believe my own department should be my priority. If my work is satisfactory, my name will spread by itself."

The CEO, pleased at this answer, then asked the question I had been expecting.

"So, then, are you interested in moving up in our company? Our QC manager will retire in a few months, and if you take a position as his assistant now, you'll succeed him when he leaves. You'll be responsible for finding your replacement here, though. Of course I don't expect you to answer now, so take a few days before you give me your answer. I'll be in Kyoto until the fifth of the month, so you've got plenty of time."

"Thank you for asking me," I said, letting my gratitude show in my voice rather than in my words. I was pleased he had asked me, after all, and though I would take a few days, I knew my answer already. What else had I been preparing for all these years, other than this offer? A few things had to be settled, yes, but other than that, I was practically already packed. "But, sir, what branch of Fushin Japan will I be in if I accept?"

"Oh? Did I neglect that?" It was clear from his tone that he hadn't neglected in the least, but had instead been delaying that until I asked. Maybe he had a dramatic streak in him, "The position you would fill would be QC manager for Fushin Fukuoka."

Being the type of woman who thinks things out thoroughly and is constantly keeping track of events, I am unaccustomed to feeling shock. But shock I felt at his statement. I'm sure my eyes widened at the thought, but I honestly cannot tell you what my face appeared as when he said those words. _Fushin Fukuoka? _Admittedly, it was technically another branch of Fushin Japan, and therefore on the same level as my habituated Fushin Kyoto, except for a few small, undeniable facts. Fukuoka was Fushin's hometown, where some oft-glorified, ne'er-remembered entrepreneurs jumpstarted a sleepy seaside neighborhood into a moneyed and sophisticated district, with Fushin's trademark triple skyscraper complex dominating the horizon. The largest and best of the many branches of Fushin, Fukuoka was also the residence of Fushin Japan's headquarters. In fact, every office and role filled in Fushin Fukuoka could, for all intents and purposes, be considered as junior positions for their Fushin Japan counterparts. It was a apprentice/master relationship, if you will. By taking the position of quality control manager of Fushin Fukuoka, I would be the first pick to become Fushin Japan's QC manager when the current manager retired. And though Fushin Inc. is very much a Japanese company, we have a great deal of foreign interest, and anyone with a post above that of secretary was involved, in some way, with international affairs. Quite the leap, even for someone of my ambition. The workload would certainly make my current stress level skyrocket through the glass ceiling, and I would surely end up yearning for the few relaxation minutes I currently received. And yet…_Fukuoka_.

The CEO, leaning back in his chair, appraised the look on my face, and nodded in approval. He and I were of the same mind, after all. Given the circumstances, only one action was acceptable for those of our kind. For we were of one kind. Had he been thirty or so years younger, I would have married him for our like-mindedness. We were both driven, talented, and unsatisfied people who were always striving for more. So as he nodded his dismissal, his eyes were twinkling in response to the fire in my own.

"I look forward to working with you, Mogami-san," he said, and I left, without saying a word, yet having expressed everything I could possibly communicate.

I, Mogami Saena, daughter of a storekeeper and his housewife, was set on the fast-track to the top of the Japanese business industry.

As I walked back to my office, I cleared my mind. I was about to be promoted, but that was hardly cause to break out the champagne and confetti. I had a few things to take care of before I left. First, the problem of my successor. I couldn't very well leave the office empty, after all. But there were no workers in my department that I would entrust the position to, and that problem was what kept me at my desk well into the night. I reviewed every file of every employee that answered to me, and pulled everything I could to find at least one person who met at least half of my expectations.

One of the more serious problems I have encountered with my perfectionism is not within myself, but within others. Over the years, the countless minor disappointments have honed my skills and discipline, and so I can often perform at the level I require myself to perform at. However, when the focus shifts to those around me, I cannot help but feel dissatisfied. How can I be so alone in my talents? Surely there is someone who can do the work I have done. And yet there were none such people under my direct command. But this pitifully low position had to be filled by someone, and that someone had to be chosen by myself.

I was the last one to leave the building that day, my desk lamp staying on far longer than my doctor recommends. And yet even I did eventually leave, forced into being contentedly frustrated with the circular pattern of my thoughts. When I finally came to the apartment I called home, I made the maddening discovery that my daughter had fallen asleep at the coffee table…again. Seemingly waiting for my return.

You see, if there is one thing on this green earth I have extreme difficulty understanding, with all my education and training, it is the female mind.

Now, as is plainly obvious, I am female myself. However, I suspect there is something flawed in my personality, because I have never felt any need for human contact. Friends, family, potential lovers, all slip into and out of my life with such distaste and apathy that I have found myself where I have always wanted to be: alone with only business partners to intermingle with. With one notable exception. You see, despite my personality and reputation, indeed, in spite of _all odds_, I have conceived, and am attempting to raise, a daughter.

Mogami Kyouko.

Yes, I see that flicker of recognition in your eyes, my reader. You know her, and your face says you know her very well. Possibly better than I, her mother, know her. But what you have seen occurs years in the future, a full decade in advance of this current story. And so I ask your patience as I bring you out of your romantic delusions and excited chattering, instead having you focus on the situation at hand: the girl you are so interested in reading about is asleep against the cold wood of the living room coffee table, and is only six years old.

As I was saying, I do not understand the female mind. Males I have difficulty comprehending as well, but females even more so. Especially females like my daughter. Fairy tales and true love are for those with the constitution for it, and I have never felt any inkling of desire for that. The books that line her walls are picture books with colorful depictions of princes, princesses, and benign magic. The heroine, no matter her struggles and hardships before the climax, finds herself happily wed to a handsome gentleman at the last page. My daughter laps those tales up as if they were sweet, life-giving elixir instead of the trite bedtime stories that they are.

But her fondness for stories is not the only difference between the two of us. She has enthusiasm, a blunt happiness for life itself, whilst I only wish to twist that very life into my servant. She smiles as easily as the sun rises, and is perfectly content to live for others, as exemplified in her absolute devotion to a local brat. Her soul is as clear as a well-polished mirror, and it is the simplest thing in the world to stare within her and divine her thoughts.

I hear your yells, yes, you there to my left, you are the most vocal. "She's only a child," you say, "It's only natural that you can see right through her." But youthful innocence is not what gives her this translucency. Didn't I just say I could see right through her? And I can see her future in that as well, the woman she will one day blossom into. It is that woman I feel disdain for. How can a mature woman be so utterly childlike? Her personality, years from now, will still be so utterly blatant as it is at this current moment, as she sits in my apartment, head resting on my furniture. All of her thoughts will be read as easily as if they were printed across her forehead in neon lighting. She is not one who will keep secrets hidden easily.

Maybe that is what I find most disappointing in her. She will never be wholly camouflaged, as I can be. Her soul is only too easy to glance into. And so, though she is intelligent enough, for despite her rather dull appearance she is at the top of her class, I have doubts that I can ever call her my own.

I was once asked, by a superior who I could not deny answering, if I loved the daughter I claimed as dependent on my taxes. Having no choice but to give him some sort of reply, I told him "She's my daughter, sir." But he and I both knew that, by evading the question, I had answered it. No, I do not love my daughter. I have never loved someone in my life. My own parents, my classmates, my associates, and God forbid I should ever love a man. Why should I start with one little twerp?

I told you I had a personality defect.

Perhaps I developed it because my father was abusive. Yes, he routinely hit my mother and myself. Once one of his drinking friends even raped me while my father laughed at the sight. I learned how to pick myself up, patch myself together and deal with whatever happened to me by myself. I was self-sufficient by the time I was ten years old. When my father finally did himself in by getting involved in a drunken fight in the slums of Kyoto, I attended the funeral, yes. And no, I didn't spit on his body or pronounce his evils for the world to hear. I was composed, disciplined, and learned that my normally somber attitude actually convinced attendees that I was in mourning. When my mother, who had developed a curious case of Stockholm Syndrome, committed suicide a scarce month later, that idea was only reinforced as many distant relatives commented on my grieving face. In reality, I was comparing the priest's words from my father's funeral to my mother's, had found both rather lackluster, and was dying to return to my laptop, and my term paper. I couldn't care less for either of them at that point.

Oh, you may think that I told you that to earn your sympathy, but in all honesty, your sympathy can remain impotently unborn. I realize that some of my actions later on will be thought of as inexcusable, and that to those of the more cunning sort among you will immediately think I told you this to soften you towards what will come later. But that is not the case. I merely told you as a possible explanation for my apathy. In reality, I actually believe that I truly am handicapped with a personality defect, for I cannot recall a single time when I was not this way, even before the abuse began.

But, whatever the cause is, the facts remain: I did not wish to take this girl with me to Fukuoka. I was certain that she would _not_ raise a fuss if I told her she was to move, she was well-behaved after all. And I was certainly not concerned with her losing her precious friends (which only consisted of that little brat I referred to earlier). And perhaps Fukuoka and Fushin would give her a better grasp of the business world. But I chafed at the idea of having her around often, a living, breathing testimony that I was inadequate in one area, even if that area never mattered to me. In the area of maternity, she was the only challenge Fate had given me, and I had failed. Why should I keep that failure around, as if I could somehow come from behind and triumph over her?

I retired to my room that night, leaving her in the living room, still thinking of that promotion, and what I had to do to prepare for it. Somehow, I was already conscious of what my plans entailed.

* * *

When I gave my official answer to the CEO three days later, he asked when I was ready to leave. My answer was short and simple: whenever he wanted me there. To test this, he asked if I would accompany him that evening as he returned to Fukuoka. I acquiesced, left, finished the little bit of packing I had left undone, determined that my successor was comfortable in his newly-installed position as quality control manager, and could be found knocking at the conference room door a full hour before the train left. He was surprised at my punctuality, and as we loitered at the station, and as we sat on the way there, we talked of many things, all having to do with the corporation. If he was surprised at my promptness, he was astounded by what I had to say. But I will record none of it here. Why? Well, for two reasons. First, a large portion of what I told him and what we discussed have been turned into plans for the future, and I cannot be candid with trade secrets. Second, I won't bore you with it. I know you have come here for only one thing, and that is the story of my daughter. Advertising techniques and customer feedback are the last things you want to hear about.

Well, where did the girl end up? I have no family, my parents and I all being only children, and my grandparents departed this earth years before their children followed suit. And I had never known her father. I hesitate in telling you this, but necessity compels me to--I was involved with several affairs around the time of her conception. I'm not proud of what I did, and for the most part consider it dead and in the past. But, at the time, I was curious as to what the big fuss was about when it came to lovemaking, and, not being tied down to any moral reasons as to why not, engaged in a few nights of it. There were several men involved, and I have never discovered who it was precisely who fathered the girl. The only thing that she knows is what I told her; that he's as good as dead.

And so, with no family members to take care of her, where did she go?

I would sooner bring her with me than turn her over to social services, and have it put on a record somewhere that I am quantifiably unfit to be a mother, and so the authorities were not involved. I also have a dearth of friends to call on, and, with the few I have had, it would be undiplomatic to call them up now, after the way they shrieked at me on graduation day in college.

Interestingly, it was the girl herself provided the situation. Or, should I say, her brat of a friend's family.

Two days after I had heard of my promotion, I had an unexpected visitor at my office. It took a moment to recognize her, though in all honesty she didn't look very different. She was wearing a business suit, complete with navy blue pumps, and looked remarkably comfortable in them, considering her usual work yukata and obi.

"Hello Mogami-san," she greeted, with a gentle smile.

"Good afternoon, Fuwa-san," I said back, immediately closing the file I was poring over. It would be rude to keep her waiting when the paperwork could easily wait, "Please, sit."

"Thank you," she said as she sat gracefully in the chair across my desk, her posture erect and hands demurely folded. Let it never be said that the proprietress of the Fuwa Ryokan had no decorum.

"What brings you here?" I asked politely.

"First, a well-deserved congratulations are in order," she said, nodding her head toward me, "I've heard of your promotion."

"Thank you," I said, and I could feel the genuine emotion behind her words. This was no snake of a woman; she had not a cunning bone in her body. I am sure she has given out her fair share of empty compliments in her time, especially considering her profession, but this was not one of them.

"What will be your new position?" she asked, and I was starting to regret the small talk. I would have preferred she had just sprung for the jugular. But, hostesses will be hostesses...

"Quality control manager in Fukuoka," I gestured to the stack of folders and files, "As you can see, it's quite the process."

"Yes, I can," she conceded, "You must be quite busy. I apologize for taking some of your time."

"It's nothing to worry about," I assured her, though I was practically itching for her to state her business, a solution worked out, and I saw the back of her as she left my office. It had nothing to do with the woman herself, I actually found her to be fairly good company, under other circumstances.

"Yes, you are a very talented woman, Mogami-san. I'm sure you'll complete everything on time."

The type of back-handed comment I'd expect from petty rivals. From her, it sounded like a gentle compliment.

"My husband and I…" she began, then paused, as if unsure how to word things delicately. I waved her on; I was a tough enough woman to take it, "…are worried about Kyouko-chan."

Ladies and gentlemen, we have arrived at the jugular.

Of course she'd be worried about my daughter. She was always the mother hen, constantly fussing over her own son, with some of that excessive love spilling over to my child. The perfect mother I could never be, and I thought that without jealousy.

"Fukuoka's a perfectly safe city," I said reassuringly, though in all honesty I had no idea what the crime statistics there were.

"I'm sure it is," she said, "but we were wondering if Kyouko would…'take' to the move. She's strong enough, surely, but my husband and I have always agreed that a stable environment is necessary for a child to be raised. And, seeing how the guests at our ryokan are fond of her, we were wondering--"

"If you could adopt her?" I asked, following her train of thought.

"Not quite," she said, and an odd gleam entered her eye. Was she scheming something? "My husband and I would look after her as if she were our own daughter, take care of all expenses, and teach her all the aspects of our business. But we would not adopt her."

"That sounds like quite a lot of work for you," I stated, and was surprised at her willingness to take on another child, "What would you want in return?"

"Your word that, if and when the time comes, you will give your permission for our Shotaro to marry her."

My eyebrows raised entirely of their own accord. So that was what the gleam meant, and also why she refused adoption. She wanted my daughter to marry her son. The child was a decade away from the legal age of marriage for women, and I was already discussing her future husband. Who would have thought the girl was so desirable a daughter-in-law?

"Neither of us want any official word, you see," she assured me, "but merely a verbal agreement. If it turns out that she is more unsuited for this work than we think, or she decides to do something else with her life, then we will be content to let her go. But it would save both of us a bit of work later if you give your blessing now."

Not be suited? For the ryokan industry? Good grief, the girl might have been doing this in past lives for the competency of her work. Six years old, and she was already being tipped by the customers. I had no difficulty visualizing her becoming the okami of the ryokan.

"But, I have to admit, I believe Kyouko-chan will one day take over in my stead as the co-owner. Call it woman's intuition, if you like."

And she doted on the boy. The few times I had seen him, she had been as devoted as a golden retriever, and she never flinched or denied him anything, despite his loud and prideful attitude and frequent demands. Would she think it so horrible to be married to him? No, she would probably be thrilled.

"Mogami-san?" her voice called me back to the present and I realized I had yet to say anything.

"That sounds like a brilliant plan, Fuwa-san. I'll be willing to pay for her living expenses, though, so you don't need to worry about that. You can expect bimonthly checks in your mailbox. Concerning the engagement, what paperwork do you want me to sign? I admit, I have never dealt with an arranged marriage before…Forgive me, I understand that this is an unofficial agreement?"

But we both comprehended each other perfectly: someday, unless some unforeseen incident occurred, Fuwa Shotaro and Mogami Kyouko would marry, and I would be the grandmother of the next Fuwa family heir.

Send out the wedding invitations.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Okay, so those of you who review: one, thanks so very much. I love Saena's POV so I would probably continue even if no one liked it but reviews brighten my day in a way nothing else can, so thanks thanks thanks again! Second, I don't think my ideas were very connected in this chapter, and it still seems choppy in my head, but I can't edit it much more without seeing this in my dreams, so here it is. So please tell me what you think of my continuity. Thank you goodnight!**

Though I have sworn I would not tell you the details of that train ride to Fukuoka, I will say this: I had no idea I was so attractive.

I had seen the man in question before, and I believe he was one of my 'lovers' during my fling with physical romance, but I had no notion of what kind of man he was. He was the son of the CEO, and had been discreetly omitted from my earlier conversations with his father. I was not aware he had accompanied his father to Kyoto, or indeed if he was still with the company. He is the type of man I am least interested in, I have found: the ones who were born into luxury, raised in opulence, and one day succeed their predecessors in that decadence and are buried in pearl-encrusted coffins with silk lining. And yet they have not the slightest notion of what running a business requires. Their entire repertoire consists of merely a good education and a few parlor-tricks. Without their parent's backing and inferior's subtle guidance, they would never succeed. And yet, in this closed-off and cloistered environment, they thrive. Breed like rats, in fact. After having slept with so many of his type, I was _nearly_ interested in running a laboratory study to ascertain if bluebloods carry a gene borne from centuries of inbreeding that makes them so very presumptuous. Purely for academic reasons, I assure you. I am the least bit interested in social criticism. The desire to see these louses routed by the very institutions they created is entirely lost within me. I have no yearning to see these perfumed and deified beings made unforgivably human with a few statistics blown in their face.

My dear, you will need to be able to recognize sarcasm if we are to continue on for so long.

But, to return to the main story, I had no idea I was so attractive. In my mind my features were actually rather sharp, and my body less pleasing after childbirth. And yet this imbecile could not keep his eyes off me. To his credit, however, his gaze never strayed lower than my face.

As we were stopped in Yamaguchi, the CEO left to relieve himself, and I was left alone with his son. Knowing from previous encounters that intelligence skipped this particular man's generation, I reached into my bag for one several files I had to memorize upon appointment to my new office. If I was deprived of enlightening discussions, I was at least in no need of reading material.

"You never told me you had a daughter."

Was he actually trying to start up a _conversation?_

"Admittedly, we never really talked after that one night," to my great annoyance, he was _still attempting _to converse with me, "I mean, I know when a woman wants her space, and I gave you yours. But you should have at least called when you found out you were pregnant. I would have sent you money, you know."

"How did you come to find out?" I asked, my irritation grating against my temple. Why was he so interested in this? What was so impressive in bearing a child? The vast majority of women after menarche and before menopause are perfectly capable of conception. He was certainly aware that I was capable as well.

"I met her."

Excuse me? Where on this green earth could you meet my daughter? She's hardly likely to be found loitering around a pool table, drinking whiskey with your associates.

"We--that is, my father and I--were staying at the Fuwa Ryokan while in Kyoto. Excellent service, by the way. Truly commendable amenities. The gardens were a work of art, nothing short of it. But I digress. Your daughter--Kyouko, right?--was quite adorable in a yukata. The most dazzling smile, like a light shining too bright. The okami-san seemed proud of her, but it was obvious they weren't related. And then I saw her eyes…"

Oh, God in Heaven, spare me from idiots. In the little time I had spent with this man, I had no idea he was a romantic. If he had been, I would have never have slept with him. Yes, my daughter's eyes are quite something. Pure gold, truer than any piece of polished jewelry. A topic of conversation. But nothing more. It's not as if her eye color is worth discussing in any great length, just as mine or yours isn't. And so, though Deities seem to be neglecting their duty to spare me, _I_ will spare you from the majority of his trifle.

"…and I knew. She doesn't really look like you, but those eyes…well, I suppose _someone's_ lineage is to blame for that."

_Oh. _

What I should have comprehended immediately I had neglected.

It should have been obvious.

He had clear eyes that reflected nothing save a shallow heart.

Yet if you chanced closer, you would notice they were actually not brown.

Instead, they were a lighter shade, a muddy tan color.

Or, if you want to label it as such, _dull gold._

But he was, truly, an idiot amongst idiots.

And he was wholly convinced that he was the father of my daughter.

What horrified me was that I had no way of knowing if he was or not.

* * *

To explain the human psyche, one must push.

Strive to be all one can be. Endure all that is thrown into one's life. Achieve a victory that is entirely one's own. Do not worry oneself with other's complaints or comments. Those may shine a guiding light on the path, but they do not determine the way. And the way I have chosen is neither easy nor enjoyable. This same way I chose for my daughter, as well, by blinding her to all other paths but the one before her. I realize my methods were harsh, and that I have spent many more hours quite away from her then what the parenting magazines wish me to. But I do not make apologies. The severest of my manners have often had her quailing underneath my stare, but I have not retreated. She will win whatever prize she sets her heart on.

Faint heart never won fair lady, and this lady is the most beauteous of them all.

She is Lady Truth, a close cousin to Lady Justice, but she is not chained to ethics as her relative is.

And though I have no alliance with either of the two women, I confess that I will sway into the grasp of the one who does not inconvenience herself with human affairs. Justice is well and good for those who are called to it, but I suppose I should have chosen one of the sciences as my major, instead of accounting. For I am so very close to becoming Truth's disciple.

But, as I have stated, I am neutral, and hold no allegiance.

And yet that does not hinder me in my movements. I do as I wish, or as my responsibilities dictate. I am not sworn to Truth. Little, insignificant facts like paternity are best suited for fireside chats and ballroom titters. Our Lady of Truth need not eject every lie and fabrication in this wide, wicked world. Let sleeping dogs lie. The small, nearly spotless falsehoods can remain strong in the minds of its believers, and the world will spin just as merrily as it always has. This is why I do not call myself a disciple, apprentice, follower, or even an admirer of Truth. Truth destroys Falsity. But some of that self-same falsity is needed in this world. How else are we to advertise?

And so it has never particularly bothered me that my daughter's father was some faceless man from so long ago. What did it truly matter? For all intents and purposes, she did not have a father. Her father was Man, in all His shapeless and countless embodiments, and altogether absent from her life. Her only parental figure was myself, as a Mother--no, a mere mother. And though I have often failed in that capacity, Truth can move apart from our shadowy corner and illuminate some other wretch's existence with her cold lantern.

But, if Mogami Kyouko's father is, in fact, this idiot amongst all idiots, then I shall go mad merely for want of an excuse.

For being the catalyst to his potential fatherhood is surely a crime, sitting snug between theft and arson.

Yet the hands of Time move onward, and that train ride's importance fades now that you know what I do. What is important now is that you know that I became settled in Fukuoka, after finding a small yet somewhat expensive apartment. After fulfilling the role as assistant to the quality control manager, I succeeded the woman after she retired, all in less than a year. And, over time, the novelty of my power wore, and the years passed. The hair around my ears became prematurely grey, and yet that hardly mattered. If a little visible maturity was enough to gain me a modicum more respect in this office, then I would gladly watch my entire scalp turn the color of ash.

I performed my duties well, and was rightly rewarded. And with every pay raise and promotion I received, a tithe flowed back to Kyoto. I may have abandoned the girl, but she was surely not found wanting. Not even of motherly affection, as I am sure Fuwa-san gave her plenty of that particular nuisance. I was far too busy for even a solitary phone call, as my responsibliites increased and my patience dwindled.

A strange relationship occurs when one is handed more responsibility. In Kyoto, I had a reputation for sternness, yes, but I was also fair. In Fukuoka, however, I grew a temper and used it frequently. I found that assistants flowed through my hands like grains of sand. They quit, they were fired, they went on maternity leave and never came back, and one even committed suicide. (It is unclear whether his workload was the cause, as his long-time partner had just broken things off two days prior. A court of law found me innocent of all such matters, so I would ask you to please consider refraining from glaring at me like you would a hardened criminal.) And yet the one constant employee was Taniguchi-san. I hadn't even expected she would join me in Fukuoka when I offered her the chance to come with me, yet she surprised me. The secretary I thought was absolutely brainless turned out to be just the remedy to the maddening task of my profession. I expected very little from her, merely to traffic all incoming messages and outgoing reports, and to provide my morning coffee. For more than a decade she was there, and she never once showed any signs of wanting to move up in the world. From Kyoto to Fukuoka, she seemed perfectly content.

And so, despite the busyness and chaos of my life, I was still haunted by the thought of that man's possible involvement with my daughter. Could he be the father? Was that one night enough to plant his seed, amongst all the others that were implanted within me, and that seed grew into fruition? To be honest, I grew obsessed with the very thought, and the disproving of said thought. If I could do no good for the girl as a mother, at least I could prove she did not have any mental disease risk factors in her genes. This is what I thought when I dismissed the errant reminder when it surfaced amidst the black sewage that is my subconscious. I was nearly certain that knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that this man was most definitely _not _the father would give me some leverage in the Celestial Court of Malefactors.

I took to the habit of observing him when he was in the office, the regularity of which shifted in accordance to strange tides I was unaware of. At times he could be predictably found in the same leather chair that his father was so stubborn he would be found in. And yet there were other times when weeks would come and go and my only glimpse of him would be of the portrait he hung in his office. I learnt that he preferred his coffee with three sugars and two creams, but preferred his tea and all alcoholic beverages straight. He defied convention and good sense by wearing sweater vests in July and lighter shirts in January, and never wore any seasonal ties. He wore all manner of colorful suits, from pink and yellow to the staple black and gray. I quickly knew everything there was to know of the man's habits and mannerisims. I could even single out the women he had dated and the mistresses he had known while in said relationships, much to the embarassment of his ex-lovers. Yet I was still in utter ignorance of his relationship to my daughter. My stalking, if you wish to call it that, never escalated to any obvious outward signs, I'm sure, but it was years before I had a chance to act on these Freudian desires.

The package my chance arrived in was actually quite innocuous.

All he wanted was another night of passion.

My natural inclination was to deny him. That phase of my life was over, the choice to end it as decisive as the words "The End" typed on a manuscript. I held no attraction to becoming sweaty and vulnerable in his arms for a second time. There were plenty of prostitutes he could engage their services for. Why did it have to be me, the one with graying hair and lines on her forehead?

But if he were to fall asleep…

What? What could I do if he fell asleep? Pluck out his hair and send it in for DNA testing?

Yes.

Yes, you have surely realized that it is what indeed transpired.

As he lay, spent, next to me, I removed a single hair from his head, smuggled it into the pocket of my crumpled skirt, made my appearance presentable, and shut the door behind me as I left. When I arrived back to my apartment, I deposited it in a clear plastic bag, clearly labeled it, and did the same for one of my own hairs. But this was all worthless, I knew. I could spent a thousand nights in his bed, (though I shudder to think the thought, as he was quite the terrible lover, though I am equally sure I was less than satisfactory as well) and it wouldn't prove a thing.

Yes, I could have both her father's and mother's hair.

Yes, I could send them off to a laboratory for DNA testing.

No, I did not have hers.

She was in Kyoto, a hundred miles away. Not only did my work prohibit me from seeing her and stealing one of her hairs as well, but custom surely dictated that several stilted conversations had to be made beforehand, of which I wanted to avoid. Would it be possible to have Fuwa-san mail a hair? If I came clean and told her I was looking for my daughter's father, would she agree to help me? I did not know, and, frankly, I did not possess the humility to try. And so my pride and obsession waged passionate war inside my skull as my stoic exterior moved throughout the world. Without any indicator as to the struggle within, my accuracy at work didn't suffer in the slightest. In fact, the opposite occurred; I was excelling at faster and faster speeds. And yet the twin plastics gathered dust in an unused kitchen drawer as I waited for my next move to be made.

What I did not know, however, was that that was several years ahead of me.

In the summer of 2001, I received a letter from Kyoto. I found it odd, considering that Fuwa-san's normal correspondence came precisely two weeks apart, telling me of my daughter's accomplishments while thinly veiling the potentially budding romance between our children. (What these children were not aware was that their marriage contract was already drawn and awaiting their signatures.) Since it had only been ten days since her last letter, I had wondered what she had felt was so urgent to write about it couldn't wait four days.

_Dear Mogami-san, _the letter began,

_I feel terribly ashamed in telling you this, but you should be made aware of the situation. As I have often neglected to tell you in our regular letters, _(Purely fiction, that pronoun. These were most certainly not _our_ letters, but only hers. I merely sent checks.) _our son, Shotaro, is actually quite rebellious. He has often told us that he would rather make his way as a musician in the entertainment industry than settle down in Kyoto with a good wife, namely Kyouko-chan. My husband and I dismissed these as a teenager's dreams, and had faith that he would come around. But both he and Kyouko-chan have disappeared immediately after their graduation from middle school, presumably to Tokyo to follow Shotaro's dream. I am sincerely regretful for our lack of discipline, but neither my husband nor do I have the heart to hire a private investigator to bring the two back home. If you wish to do so, then that is completely your decision and we will not fault you that. But you have the full right to know what has occurred here, and take any actions you deem necessary._

_Yours,_

_Fuwa Airi_

* * *

Level-headed decisions are quite manageable, despite the majority of decisions that are not made level-headedly. What does not occur to the hot-headed, willful sort is that emotions are entirely perishable. As predictable as butter and canned goods, their shelf-life can be neatly plotted on a coordinate plane. And so, when reflecting and analyzing one's life and goals, one should never take into account one's feelings. Everything changes, yet feelings degenerate as rapidly as a diseased animal's rotting cadaver.

Having realized early on that what I _felt _about a matter did little to help my cause, I have made it a point to discount emotion in every decision I make. Whether it was the move to Fukuoka or to not abort a fetus, every choice I have made is the product of the purest logic and reason.

And this decision was no different.

My first letter to Fuwa-san in nearly a decade is copied below:

_Fuwa-san:_

_Regrettably, I must remain in Fukuoka until the end of the summer, as business does not allow me to leave until aforesaid time. In August, however, I will return to Kyoto to discuss the matter in greater depth with you. I ask your patience with my timing, as I know it is most likely not the most convenient for you or your husband. If that time is absolutely unfeasible for you, then please contact me and I will reschedule my trip._

_Sincerely,_

_Mogami Saena_

On the fourth of August, at 8:55 AM, I boarded a bullet train to Kyoto. That same day, I disembarked on the same platform I had left so long ago when I left with the CEO and his son to Fukuoka. My superiors and coworkers were astounded I was taking personal time off work, as it was an unprecedented occurence, yet never commented on the matter within my hearing. I am sure, however, that they did comment on it, but I am unaware of the exact wording.

But though I am surrounded by gossiping fishwives within office walls and without, I ignored them all to settle the matter of my daughter's disappearance. My emotions of disappointment and loathing for her negligence to her academics were already past their expiration date, surely. After all, I have no right to lecture her on the matter, as I am her mother in name and name only.

And so, I did not go to Kyoto to bring my daughter back.

I went to see if she had left any DNA behind when she left.

For a mother, wouldn't you say that's inexcusable?


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Here's the situation: my computer has decided to spaz out on me. I have tried numerous times over the past weekend to access my word processer, and have suceeded only twice. And when I do finally get this fic open and start writing, I can't get more than two hundred words in before my system crashes. This happened right after I finally got my inspiration for "Akachan" back, by the way. But I think I have a schedule in mind for releases, so hang tight and please don't try to find me and kill me. (no, really, please don't, my computer can't take anymore tracking cookies) So if you guys don't see me much in the next bit, it's because I'm wrestling with this beast of a computer. But be assured: "Akachan" is coming back. So, here you go, hope you enjoy, please review, see you all later!**

"Mogami-san!" was the cry I heard upon my return.

The ryokan was exactly as I had recalled it. Clean, efficient, gracious staff, good alcohol, and realistic restorations of original Kempo-era architecture. And yet I saw none of this within my first minute of arrival on the Fuwa Ryokan property. All I could perceive was a brief glimpse of the oldest and most prominent building, the main house, before I was caught up in a painfully tight embrace.

I have never been one for physical contact. All things considered, boundaries should be observed at all times in most every situation we humans engage ourselves in. Kyouko herself learned this years ago when she would reach out to me, only to be slapped away. I expect that everyone who chooses to associate with me respect basic etiquette.

"Fuwa-san!" I exclaimed, nearly dropping my overnight bag.

"Oh, please excuse my rude behavior, Mogami-san," she said, taking a few steps away, a handkerchief materialized in her hands, and she dabbed at her eyes, "I'm afraid these last few months have been hard on me, but that's no excuse, isn't it? Oh, I apologize for my actions."

"You're forgiven, Fuwa-san," I said dismissively. Now that she was a safe distance away, I was willing to let the indiscretion slide, "How have you been lately?" An unfortunate piece of propriety in our society is the need for small talk.

"That hardly matters, doesn't it?" she said, surprisingly philosophic for one so bereaved. Then again, bereavement tends to have a peculiar effect on his victims, thus giving them odd thoughts. Her son's exodus must have upset her far more than Kyouko's dual disappearance was me.

"Yes, I doubt any of us are faring well, under the circumstances," I said somberly, though I wanted to slap her for her lack of control. Two teenagers had taken a train to Tokyo, this was hardly cause for mourning! But I schooled my emotions and merely commented on the weather, hoping she would take the hint and move our reintroductions indoors. She hastily caught on and asked if I would prefer tea or coffee. Normalcy and social customs took over from there, and soon I found myself seated in one of the rooms of the ryokan, sipping green tea and waiting for her to fetch her husband so we three could talk.

The evening past in a reasonable way, as we discussed what our next collective action should be. They had found record of a certain "Fuwa Sho" debuting with Akatoki Agency, and his profile picture on the agency's website was certainly that of their dear Shotaro. Although I did not witness his supposedly 'scandalous' first performance, in which he was clad in risqué clothing, I was assured that they had raised their son to be the model man, and his recent appearance on stage was a most unpredictable event.

Sensing my disinterest, they hurried unto what they assumed was my primary concern: Kyouko's well-being. The little research they had been able to conduct into their son's current life was frustratingly unfruitful in my daughter's, and they had yet to come across a reference to her. They were, however, fairly certain that she was currently not enrolled in school, nor had any plans of attending come September, as the two had left with inadequate funds for schooling. Not to mention the exceedingly high costs of leasing an apartment, food, clothing, and whatever their boy wanted in order to break it into the music industry, and Kyouko's willingness to put herself aside. I cared for nothing they had to say.

Eventually, I was able to retire to the rooms they had set aside for me, and set aside their conversation to the dark corners. Tomorrow I would visit the room the Fuwas had given her when she was six and find some sort of biological trace. Since my daughter was simply a teenage runaway and not a professional criminal, it was all too likely that she would have left something behind.

The following morning, when I knew the couple would be completely distracted by work elsewhere, I found Kyouko's room. Somehow, it didn't surprise me that her private room looked similar to the entirety of my apartment: devoid of personal touches. Her room was composed of only necessities, with no posters or knick-knacks that would betray her personality, and the walls were a neutral white. The bookshelf was lined with textbooks and a few novels, all fantasy, and her desk was bare, no pictures or diaries laying about. A futon served as her bed, and a few cushions scattered about, each equipped with deep impressions refusing to give up their existence. I wondered how heavily she had to lean into the cushions to make those impressions.

I exited the room a few minutes later with a hair pulled from her hairbrush encased in a plastic hidden in my pocket. I stayed in Kyoto for two more days, out of decorum, before leaving. In those two days I spent most of my time making sure my subordinates in Fukuoka were not misbehaving under my absence, and the Fuwas and I only reached one conclusion: what to do for public appearance. The couple wanted nothing more than to have him come back of his own free will, and assumed I wanted as much for her, so we together decided to act as if Kyouko had been sent to me, while Fuwa was with relatives in Yokohama. I would have very little to do with this plan, as no one I worked with even knew I had a daughter, besides Taniguchi-san.

The train ride back to Fukuoka was spent drafting the letter I would send to a local laboratory asking for a paternity test. As with all of my personal correspondences, it was a short letter, and not even worth transcribing here. When I arrived back to Fukuoka, I posted it, along with the three hairs in separately marked plastics, and waited.

The results came later than I expected, but come they did, along with the rest of my business-oriented mail. Knowing as I do that all matters of personal interest take lower precedence than those of business-related relevance, I opened and read that letter last that night.

Unlike my letter to them, their letter to me is worth noting:

_Dear Mogami-san:_

_We thank you for choosing our facilities. As our entire staff knows, deciding to undergo a paternity test is never an easy decision, and we wish to assure you that your case has been handled with discretion. We understand that you are a powerful woman, and do not wish scandal under any circumstances, but we assure you that our policy here is always for the customer's best interest._

_According to our tests, there is no _conclusive_ evidence to show any family connection between any of the DNA samples you submitted. We have found that the male hair has an exact 50% match to that of the child's. As all human chromosome structure is comprised of 50% of the mother's DNA and 50% of the father's, the child's hair would have to prove relation to both parents. Under normal circumstances, this match would be enough to determine probable paternity, however the female hair matches the child's only 19%, impossible for her to be the mother under any circumstances. _

_In short, the man whose hair you have submitted could very well be the father of the child, however the woman's hair does not belong to the mother. In order to prove plausible paternity between the child and father, the biological mother's hair must also be provided. _

_Also, under further testing we have found that the child's hair, which you labeled as your daughter's, is actually male._

_If there has been some misunderstanding, you can be assured it was not at our laboratories. Again, we thank you for choosing our research facilities, and encourage you to consider using us again in the future. If you have any questions or need to speak with the director, the number is listed below._

_Sincerely,_

_Takeuchi Chie_

_Director_

_Berutachi Laboratories_

_(327) 555-2854_

Could it be?

Could the two who were closer than conjoined twins have actually interfered with my work, despite their ignorance of my endeavor? Was that what was going on? Someone else, someone in that house, and someone familiar with her used her hairbrush, and it was that someone's hair that I picked up. And that someone was _male_.

The next afternoon, I invented some excuse to give Taniguchi-san and my new assistant an extended lunch break, barricaded myself in my office, and dialed the number. After four rings, I was put on hold. This didn't annoy me, as I have had Taniguchi-san put many a caller on hold before, and so understood from a business standpoint the necessity of the hold button. After twenty minutes of being shuffled around the system, I was finally speaking to the director.

"Mogami-san, it's a pleasure to speak with you," she said, a woman's voice, "What are you inquiring of?"

"I was merely calling to confirm a few things," I replied, as equally cool as she.

"Concerning your maternity?" she guessed.

"Yes," I said, "Are you--"

"Sure that our staff has not mishandled your case by accidentally misplacing your hair for one of another woman's? Yes. If you would feel more at ease to send in another sample and have us test that as well, then you can most certainly do that. However, we are absolutely sure that your case has not been mishandled."

"And that the child's hair is male?"

"Also verified numerous times. I understand that this situation looks wrong from your standpoint, Mogami-san, but I cannot promise you enough that the these are the results from the samples you sent in."

"No," I said, already resigned to my failure to procure my daughter's hair, "I know."

A relieved sigh from the other end of the line. No doubt she was concerned if she had offended the newly instated head of quality control of Fushin Japan, and lose a customer as well.

"I wish you luck, Mogami-san," she said, and her voice sounded strangely distracted, even over the phone.

"In what?"

"It must be difficult to raise a child so rebellious. I don't envy you at all, even with your title and salary."

"Rebellious?"

"Well, and forgive me for speaking so freely, but I can't help but to think of every teenager who dyes his hair blonde as rebellious."

"The hair was dyed?"

"Uhm, yes, Mogami-san," confusion creeping into her voice, "the male child's hair you sent in was dyed blonde. Did you not know?"

"Mogami-san!"

My head jerking up, I saw the last thing I would wish to see under the circumstances: the son of the CEO.

"How's life?" he asked, seemingly oblivious to the receiver in my hand.

"I'm afraid I'll have to end our conversation here, Takeuchi-san," I said, ending the conversation before this imbecile said or did something to embarrass me, "I thank you for your time, though."

"Absolutely," she said, confused but thankfully willing to hang up, "I enjoyed talking to you. Goodbye."

"Mogami-san, it's rude to ignore people when they ask you questions."

_It's even more rude to demand a conversation from someone who is already engaged in one. _"My apologies. What can I do for you?"

"I heard you went to Kyoto a few weeks ago."

"That's correct."

"Why?"

"Personal matters."

"Did you stay at the Fuwa Ryokan there?"

"Why do you wish to know?"

"The okami-san there asked me to recommend it to everyone who visits the Kyoto area. Since I didn't know you were going there till you were already back, I didn't have the chance to tell you."

"I lived in Kyoto for more than thirty years. I know of the better ryokans in the area very well, thank you."

"How was the okami-san, while we're on the subject?"

"Fine." _Crying and suffering empty-nest syndrome, actually. Nearly broke the teapot while performing the tea ceremony as well, or so I heard._

"That's good," and this was when my intuition, usually so latent, raised its subliminal head. He looked sheepish, this confident man who strode into my office like he was my superior. I had observed him for so long now that it hadn't even crossed my mind that he could look this way.

Before I even knew it, the next words were already thrust out of my mouth and into the air, and it wasn't until they were that I realized I was looking for a reaction. If words could be arrows, then my quiver was fuller than I had expected.

"Actually, she did look paler now that you mention it. A hint of shadow around her eyes too. Slow, sluggish movements and frequently acted as if she wasn't really in this world at all. I wonder what happened to her."

Bulls-eye.

The arrow didn't even tremble as it landed solidly at its mark. He gave away the whole game with one full release of control. A mere three seconds, as measured by my digital desk-clock, and the pieces started falling into place, one by one.

"Oh, really?" he said, able to show remarkable control in his normal response, "Well, I'm sure she'll be feeling much better now. She always seemed the type to pick herself up after every fall.

"Well, I see you're busy right now, Mogami-san, so I'll leave you alone. See you later." He winked, a typical motion, and actually had the presence of mind and manners to shut the door behind him.

I smirked at the wood of the door. Though he had so quickly masked his emotions, for those three seconds he looked nearly wretched. There was no doubt that underneath that familiar and normal attitude was a motley of assorted and probably violent emotions clashing. And I had little reservation in assuming that Fuwa-san's invented illness was the cause of his concern.

Piece by piece, the pieces all fall on the table.

Yet they will yet be put in their places.

You see, I, as the one charged with assembling this complex puzzle, prefer to delay until unequivocal Truth is the one who connects the pieces together, not I.

For that, I needed yet more evidence.

Evidence in the form of DNA.

Which was inconveniently located in Kyoto, too far away to warrant a second visit so soon on the heels of my last.

If only my daughter, having been so worthless this past decade, could hand to me another alibi as easily as she gave me the first.

I truly had to learn of the arrogance in my thoughts, and it would take that selfsame girl to teach me of that.

In the April after my first submission of DNA, I found another letter awaiting me in the evening upon my return from work. Again, from Fuwa-san.

_Dear Mogami-san,_

_I apologize disturbing you after we promised in August to not mention this again, but I do feel the need to tell you a few things my husband and I have decided to do in regards to our child's current situation._

_A few weeks ago, our son Shotaro gave an interview on a variety show. Though the format of the program was quite odd, he stated that he wished to never again be called by his birth name, which he did not tell, and instead be only known by his stage name, Fuwa Sho. He even went so far as to say that he had lost his past._

_Well, after my husband and I discussed the matter several times, we made the joint decision to give him what he wants the most: his freedom. On the first of May, this year, we intend to "bury" our son. Whether you wish Kyouko-chan to also be included we leave entirely up to you._

_As I am sure you are well aware, faking a child's death is quite the process, and I understand if you wish to keep Kyouko-chan's disappearance an open matter. If you do not reply to this letter, that will serve as your answer._

_Sincerely,_

_Fuwa Airi_

I am sure that you, a fairly astute reader, can surmise where I was on the twenty-seventh of April, a mere four days before Fuwa Shotaro and Mogami Kyouko's joint "funeral".

On a shinkasen, bound for Kyoto.

And while signing her death certificate and pretending to mourn her loss, I was also quite actively seeking out three pieces of evidence.

The first two pieces were hairs, yet again. This time, I was determined to obtain Kyouko's DNA, and succeeded in separating one strand from the brush that I was certain was hers. The second hair was much harder to acquire, but I managed a victory on the third day of my visit, when the employees were given the day off, business shut down, and the Fuwas were on the other side of the city in preparation for their son's and my daughter's funeral. That was the only day in which no one was able to witness my surreptitious trip to the master bedroom, where I extracted another hair from a different hairbrush.

The third piece was actually mere affirmation. On the day of the funeral, when their 'bodies' were placed in the furnace, two pictures were displayed. One was of a girl, childish face, golden eyes, long black hair. The other was of a boy, distinctively Oriental features, black eyes, short blonde hair.

My eyes lingered on the photograph for a meager moment before I bent my head at the priest's invitation.

I was within Fukuoka city limits by midnight the next day.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I have spent three chapters focusing on one perspective, and now it's time to change gears. You guys should know by now that I'm not the type to write anything from just one person's POV, right? So when there's a line break, just assume that it's a completely different shift in scene and be prepared to suffer insane flashbacks and a half-dozen different stories being told here, all until you reach the conclusion. (I swear, everything will make sense at the conclusion. If it doesn't, read it again.) The last bit of dialouge is a conversation between Sho and Kyouko, and _ménage à trois_ means a threesome, but it's a more cultured way of saying it. ('Tis French, you know.) _So_...Enjoy. (Oh, P.S., _Akachan_'s just been updated as well. Go. Look. XD) (Oh, and P.P.S., reviews rock. ;))**

**Trivia: "Fushin", as in the corporation I invented for this fic, is actually the Japanese word for "disloyalty". Like Saena's disloyalty to her own daughter. ;)**

The door opened, but the chatter she expected to hear was ominously absent. Confused, she looked up from her script, and met the gaze of only one pink-clad comrade.

"Good afternoon, Amamiya-san," Kanae said in greeting.

"Ah, hello, Kotonami-san," the other black-haired girl replied, distracted somehow.

"Where's Kyouko? I thought you two were supposed to come to LME right after _Box "R" _was over for the day." _Stay cool, Kotonami, _she warned herself, _You're a professional actress. One day you'll be at the top of the industry. You can act for thirty seconds like this doesn't bother you. And why should it?_

"Actually," Chiori began as she changed out of her street clothes and into her Love Me uniform, "I'm not quite sure why she's not here. All I know is that she'll clock in soon."

"Weren't you there?" Kanae demanded, her patience wearing, "How can you not know? She's not exactly the type to hide things."

"I know that, Kotonami-san," Chiori said soothingly, "But that's where things got really…weird today."

"Weird? How weird could things get?"

"Well…"

* * *

"Ok! That's a wrap!"

The actors blinked, breaking free from their respective roles and once again joining the world outside of their drama. For the director, this was usually the most unsettling time of the day, as the personalities the girls portrayed when filming was so very different from who they really were. All of them, even the protagonist, who was supposed to be fairly normal both off and on camera, seemed to reawaken when he shouted completion.

But, out of all of his cast, there was one transformation, from actress to role and back again, that never failed to make the hair on the back of his neck rise. His bully, his glamorous high school villain, and the girl who repeatedly stole the show in small, undermining ways, never failed to amaze him as she emerged from her role.

"Mogami-chan!" he called through his megaphone, breaking the spell on set, "There's someone who wants to speak to you. There's about a fifteen minute break while the crew changes the set, so please do it now."

"Thank you, Director!" she called back before nearly running off-stage to speak to whomever it was that called her out.

"Other way, Mogami-chan!" he yelled as he saw the direction she was running.

The girl spun mid-stride, and then led a full charge the opposite way, narrowly dodging several stagehands, but somehow making it to the far side of the room with no incidents. She looked around, looking for an out-of-place face.

"Mogami-san," a soft voice chimed, calling Kyouko's attention to herself.

"Good afternoon," Kyouko greeted, vaguely recognizing the tidily dressed woman in front of her.

"I apologize for inquiring for you when you are obviously working," the older woman said, slightly inclining her head. There was something matronly about her, though Kyouko still couldn't place her face or name.

"It's fine, I'm on break," Kyouko said, taking the safe route and referring to the woman in the polite form.

"That's good," she smiled, and the gesture was so familiar Kyouko nearly remembered her, but then the memory slipped from her, "I'm the secretary for the quality control manager of Fushin Inc.'s Japan, Taniguchi Ami."

"Taniguchi-san!" Kyouko cried out, finally recognizing the woman. Even if it had been ten years since she'd seen the woman, Kyouko had met Taniguchi-san numerous times, through her mother. Small wonder she recognized her.

She chuckled, taking it all good-naturedly, "I see you have a better memory than I expected, Mogami-san. Yes, I'm your mother's secretary."

"Oh," the younger girl said, catching up to the implications behind this, "Uhm…what does she want with me?"

"All I've been told to do is give this to you, Mogami-san," Ami said, opening her briefcase to pull out a manila envelope stuffed with papers. "I confess, though, that I do not know the contents."

"That's understandable, Taniguchi-san," Kyouko said, smiling though she could barely keep her hand from trembling. _This is pathetic, _Kyouko told herself as she took the envelope from Ami, _I'm an actress now! I am Tsuruga-san's kouhai and the son of Kuu Hizuri! I should at least be able to act for a moment like I was at least expecting this! That woman can contact me any day of the week, and I should be this cool!_

"Well, how should I word this," Taniguchi said as she looked down at her superior's daughter, "Your mother ordered me to watch you read what's in there. She wants to be sure you are aware of the situation."

"What situation?" Kyouko asked as she opened the envelope.

The older woman sighed, "To be honest, I'm not quite sure. All I know is that I am to watch you read at least the first third of the papers."

Smiling, though her stomach was turning and she couldn't stop herself from swallowing, she made the mistake of looking down to the stack of papers she held in her hand.

Eyes wide, Kyouko was no longer aware of her body, and could not feel her mouth drop open as she read the words. Her thoughts, previously swirling around her head in a confused typhoon, suddenly vanished from her mind.

But when her synapses started connecting once again, she knew that she would have to call Shotaro. Tonight.

* * *

"So when the woman in the power suit left, Kyouko-san came over and told me that something had come up and she had to meet Fuwa Sho across Tokyo, so we wouldn't be able to go to LME together."

"Fuwa Sho?" Kanae asked, startled. "Why would she want to see him, of all people?"

"Well, I guess she didn't say his name during the conversation. But she tried calling right before I left, and I heard her grumbling about how someone named Sho wouldn't pick up his phone. Since there're a few rumors floating around that she knows Fuwa Sho the visual-kei star really well, I assumed she meant him."

"You were right before," Kanae said, slowly closing her script, "This is weird."

* * *

"Ma'am, can I help you?" asked the startled receptionist.

"I am Kyouko of LME's Love Me Department. You may know me as Hongo Mio from _Dark Moon _or Nacchan from _Box "R"._ I would like to talk to Fuwa Sho, please."

"Fuwa Sho?" the woman asked timidly, sensing that this girl would not easily be turned away, "Do you have some sort of appointment?"

"Absolutely not," the girl said with conviction, which surprised the receptionist. Normally those who wanted to meet with a star seemed to at least somewhat like them, not deny any sort of connection with them.

"W-why would you wish to see him?" she asked, grasping at any question she could find, "Or w-w-would you like to confirm a meeting via phone?"

A smile. "That will work," she said, and a flame of victory danced behind those golden eyes, "By all means, please call him or his manager."

"Excuse me for a moment," the receptionist said as she typed commands into the computer and brought up Fuwa Sho's contact information, and then dialed the number for his manager's cell phone. She was able to complete the entire process without looking at the girl directly in the eye, but as the phone dialed, she had no choice but to keep her eyes on the computer screen, lest she look straight into those piercing, demanding eyes.

By the mercy of Kami-sama, the manager answered on the fourth ring.

"Hello?" came the female voice of Fuwa Sho's manager, whose name eluded the receptionist at this point.

"This is Akatoki's front desk. There's an actress here asking to meet Fuwa-san--"

"Mimori-chan? Sorry, Sho-chan's busy recording now. Tell her that he can meet up with her later, just not now."

"No, no, not her. The girl here is Kyouko…-san."

Silence.

"Uhm…hello?"

"Send a company car."

"B-but you just said Fuwa-san was busy--"

"I know. He is. Send her over."

"And in a company car?"

"I can pay for the time and gas. Just get her here."

"All right. I'll send her."

"Thank you very much."

"Goodbye."

"Goodbye."

She glanced up to look at the beast of a girl who could arrive, unannounced, and immediately gain a meeting with one of Akatoki's busiest--and most desirable--stars.

"A company car will be around at the side entrance soon to pick you up. While you're waiting, would you care for a mineral water?

* * *

In September, Fushin Inc. hosted its international conference in Singapore. Taniguchi-san and I traveled there, and, due to the hotel staff's inadequacies, shared a room.

"I apologize for this, Taniguchi-san," I said as I set up my laptop.

"Don't apologize," she said, absurdly cheerfully for one about to share a suite with me for ten days, "It's not your fault the hotel computers messed up, Mogami-san."

I nodded, amused at the simple wisdom. No, I was not the one who made a mistake entering data into the computer, nor was I the one who hired the ones who did. By this elementary logic, I had no right apologizing.

And yet I was not apologizing for the computer error, but instead because I would not compromise anything with her. She would follow my schedule, live by my rules, and be subjected to everything I subjected myself to. As such, I had foreknowledge that she would not look back fondly on these next ten days. It was one thing to work under me, but it was quite another to live with me, as one little girl found out so very long ago.

"Hey, Mogami-san?" she called from the other room.

"Yes?" I replied, frowning at the lack of signal in a so-called deluxe suite. My impression had been that worthwhile hotels currently carry high-speed Internet access as part of the package when one buys a room. Ostensibly, this hotel was determined to remain traditional, and had opted out of both quality Internet access and functioning software programs in their computers.

"Would it bother you if I watched TV?" she asked, still from the other room.

"Feel free to go ahead," I replied, making futile attempt after futile attempt trying to find a place in our shared suite that had fair wireless access.

Within moments, I was aware that my secretary was not watching the evening news, as I thought she would, but some drama, as evident by the theme song that was decipherable even from the other room and from under heavy preoccupation.

"Taniguchi-san?" I asked, confused and--admittedly--intrigued. I had so very little knowledge of the entertainment industry, and had a faint spark of curiousity as to what my secretary considered good enough to devote some time to.

"Yes?" she asked, somewhat sheepishly, for which I do not blame her. She was most likely expecting a light scolding for watching Japanese dramas while on a business trip.

"What are you watching?" I asked, keeping my tone neutral enough to reassure the girl--for though she was now in her early thirties, married and the mother of two children, I still very much considered her a girl--that I would not scold her. For some unreasonable excuse, I abandoned my work and joined her in the other room.

"It's a remake of a popular drama that was on about twenty years ago," she said, her tone cautious, "_Dark Moon_. Have you heard of it, Mogami-san?"

"Not really," I said as I watched the scene with her. A man, tall, dark hair, with handsome features played a classical piano piece side-by-side with a girl younger than him. They were in some classroom, with no one else around.

"The plot is a love story," Taniguchi-san said, probably feeling overwhelmed by the silence, "A girl falls in love with her teacher--that's them right now on screen--and he returns her feelings, but he's also her cousin's fiancé."

Now that she had brought it up, though, I _had_ heard of it in passsing from my giggling subordinates who were infatuated with the main actor. Even now, I saw delicate pink coloring my secretary's cheeks as her eyes focused on him. What animalistic attraction would make Taniguchi-san flustered while watching a man ten years her junior was beyond my comprehension.

"If he loves the blonde, why doesn't he break it off with the cousin? Is it an arranged marriage?" For some reason, though I didn't particularly care for a fictitious couple's trials, I felt compelled to ask questions.

"He never even really liked the cousin, Misao, but he wanted to get close to her family to extract revenge."

Revenge, huh? Well, of all the fervent emotions, it was at least a reasonable and excusable passion. And also quite easily forgiven. Far more so than obsessive love.

The piano music, which had so far supplemented and provided a background to our conversation, suddenly halted. Turning my attention back to the screen, I realized why I had felt compelled to come in the room. What met my eyes was the reason why I had stayed, and why I had asked my secretary questions.

Because, for the first time in living memory, I had felt what I had so often scorned before. What is commonly referred to as 'maternal intuition' uncoiled within me, and this was the reason why I had momentarily surrendered my work to steal a few minutes of _Dark Moon_.

Standing there, in the doorway of a school classroom, having walked in on the couple's playful rendition of Mozart, was a high-school aged girl with short black hair, golden eyes, and a scar.

I didn't hear the conversation that followed, nor did I really see how the man and woman stuttered and blushed their way out of their situation. All I was aware of was the girl's scathing glare, and the knowledge roaring through my veins.

She was acting now.

Ten years had changed everything.

"Taniguchi-san?" I asked, my voice sounding distant and cold even to my own ears.

"Yes?" she asked, instantly sitting up straight.

"I would like a report on the actress playing that girl in my hands tomorrow morning. Perform a background check as well."

"Will that be all?" she asked, as intimidated by me as she had been when she first started working for me.

"For now," I said, aware that, in her eyes, I was a mirror image of the on-screen actress whom I was requesting information on at that moment, "Please feel free to retire whenever you like."

"Yes ma'am."

"Goodnight, Taniguchi-san."

* * *

"Kyouko?" Sho asked in astonishment as his manager called for a break. Normally, he was the only one who called breaks for himself, the technicians in the booth, and his musicians. Shoko had never called for a break before. "What's she coming here for?"

"Yes, she's coming," Shoko said, feeling his narrowed eyes more than she saw them, "She showed up at Akatoki about ten minutes ago, asking to meet with you. They called me, and I had her come over. Do you mind?" That last question was merely to save his pride. She knew him well enough to know the answer to that question, and in the manner he would answer it, but also knew he would be ticked if she didn't ask his permission.

"Not really," her charge said as he downed the last of his energy drink, "It's just that this might take up some studio time. Aren't you always telling me how expensive it is?"

Shoko started to answer, but was cut off by a familiar fury fuming from the doorway. She gulped, and couldn't find it within herself to turn around and meet the gaze of the girl she knew was there. Sho, however, had no problem with leaning forward, and peering around Shoko to look at the doorway.

"Been a long time, Kyouko," he said, settling back on the couch.

The only greeting she gave was a perfunctory nod of agreement as she walked forward, her hand sliding into her bag. Shoko moved away from the couch Sho was reclining on, afraid to get in their way. When she was close enough, Kyouko brought out a manila envelope and dropped it on Sho's lap.

He looked up at her, and then down at the envelope, an eyebrow raised in question. Her face gave no answers as the temperature of the room plummeted. Putting aside the empty drink can, he opened the envelope.

And the first real emotion since Kyouko's name had been brought up crossed his face. A thousand tiny things flitted through his expression as his eyes widened. He even sat up so he was sitting properly in the chair, which was such a rare occurance Shoko doubted whether she was actually seeing it.

"Shoko-san."

"Yes?"

"Can Kyouko and I have some privacy? We need to talk."

* * *

Fate is a cold, mocking lady with little else to do but ruin others' lives.

Take Toriumi Kazuhiko, for example.

He couldn't have been born with better connections. His father was the successor to a dynasty of successful businessmen, and, as the second son, he was guaranteed some measure of wealth and power when he grew of age. He grew up learning about his family tree, which even held a few Imperial-age nobles in the topmost branches. But though he faithfully memorized the names and dates of even his most obscure relations, he was much more interested in sports and cars, and things every little boy concerns himself with. He ran and played and chased with his brother, cousins and friends, always laughing and smiling, even through the skinned knees and broken arms. Fate blessed him.

And so he grew up in that secluded world of heirs and moneyed protection. He spent summer, winter, and spring breaks in international locales, and as he grew older he learned that culture lessons and guided tours weren't the only things large, modern cities have to offer. There were plenty of incidences that, had the tabloids been informed of, would have brought considerable scandal to his family. Yet though he accepted the occasional scolding and the displeasure of his parents, he lived his life the way he wanted to live it: fast and without a care in the world.

It took a domestic trip to Kyoto before he started evaluating his careless lifestyle. Even now, as he sits in his dark bedroom, wide awake even at three AM, he can see the scene before him as if he were living it once again.

She was only seventeen at the time.

But, God, she was beautiful.

She was not armed with the passion-inducing attraction of voluptuous curves and a sultry smile, nor did she have the slim hips and firm body that he thought he was attracted to. No, this woman was quiet, modest, kind and, above all, _mature_. He doubted whether she had ever set foot in a club or bar, or was even aware of the many subtle tricks women so often use to seduce a man. In fact, when he first met her, he wasn't even thinking at all of how to get her in his bed. There was just something about her manner that, though condoning of other's carnal pleasure, found higher joy in the intricate art of ikebana, or in the complex tea ceremony she so often performed.

She came from a similar background as he, yet they were worlds apart. During their many long walks together, she told him of the times she had stepped foot on land not within Kyoto Prefecture, and that conversation had been even shorter than the one concerning local Kyoto scandal. Even without adult's ears listening, he still treated her with respect and courtesy--an attitude he was wholly unfamiliar with in his interactions with women. But how he could he turn away from her, spare her from his crude speech and blunt actions, when she made him aware of a solitude he had been blind to? And so he stayed with her, yet muted his many unwholesome qualities.

She was a rare find, though, and deserved to be treated with much more civility than he knew how to express. He could see her, wherever she was, whatever she was doing, inwardly burning with a disciplined grace, always conveying her peculiar, and oh so very thrilling, allure. And also, and this could be considered the most decisive aspect of their relationship, she was a social equal to him. Yes, their families were involved in entirely different spheres of business, yet could cleave to each other wonderfully, if given the proper motivation. And what greater motivation is there than the triumphant cry of church bells, heralding an infant marital union?

Yes, an infant marital union was exactly what was in order. All of Nature practically shrieked for it, begged for it.

The families involved voiced their approval in so many subtle and not-so-subtle ways, an emotional bolster for the couple.

Even Fate smiled as she signed her consent. Marital union. A beautiful solution for the grievances of solitude.

Kazuhiko shook away uncharacteristic tears as he read the engagement annoucement in the newspaper. His hands, even now, shake for want to cry out at this injustice. Fate had just torn him away from his first love, his only love. She was happily given away to a strong, traditional Japanese man who came from an equally good family, and he wasn't even invited to the wedding.

But though he knew Fate had denied him his bliss, he did not let her walk away from him without leaving his mark on her.

It never occured to him to wonder if she rose from that night heavy with both grief and a spark of life buried within her body.

* * *

It wasn't as if she wanted to be an adulteress. That was just how the night worked out.

But that didn't condone her behavior. She had yet to be a wife, and her fidelity was already compromised. For a woman who had grown up to carry on the traditional ways, she was expected to be virgin on her wedding night. She wasn't. And she didn't have the excuse of rape.

And yet, what was she supposed to do? He had shown up at her parent's house and asked for her, looking as if he had already spent the first part of the evening in a bar somewhere. She had accepted, and they had taken a walk through the gardens, like they used to do before she announced her engagement. There had been a long while before he spoke, and when he did, he confessed. Like a schoolboy before a stern teacher, he kept his head down, hands clasped behind his back, even shuffling his feet while he told her that he loved her.

She had been flattered. Confused, yes. Anxious, yes. Regretful, yes. But _flattered_.

And she knew that she was flattered because the attraction had been mutual.

So she had been preoccupied when he leaned in to kiss her. And after that...well, it had only been a matter of time before they found a secluded grassy area in the back of the property. Later, she would be ashamed by what they did there, but at the time she wouldn't have been able to stop him even if she had the presence of mind to remember that she should have.

In the morning she cried.

That afternoon she was married.

And in the evening she spent her wedding night in her lawful husband's bed.

When she found out she was pregnant, she buried her suspicions, prayed, and resolved to raise the child as the rightful son and heir of the Fuwa family, no matter his paternity. This decision was assisted by her ignorance of his paternity herself. She never had the wish nor the means to ascertain who her son's biological father was.

Her family never doubted her purity. Her husband never asked why she wasn't virgin on that first night. Her son never had any reason to doubt his parentage.

And Kazuhiko?

He visited every once in a while. Stayed at the ryokan when he was in Kyoto. Laughed at Shotaro's antics and praised Kyouko-chan's work ethic. Smiled at her. Never flirted with her. Never even hinted that they had once been lovers, even if it had only been for one night.

But whenever he was in town, she would fall asleep those nights, feeling her husband sleeping next to her and feeling her one-time lover in the other wing of the building, thinking--_What a strange ménage à trois_.

Yes, Fate is a very cold, very cruel woman.

* * *

Admist the scattered papers, incomplete explanations, and angrily-thrown words, the two were sitting on the floor, their expressions neutral. Every so often, one would sneak a glance at the other, and eyes would ask the unanswerable question neither of them dared to speak. Every moment, every second, every scene, every _nuance_ of their near-lifetime relationship was suddenly viewed from a new prospective, courtesy of this burdensome information hoisted on them. What had been presented to them in the manila envelope left nothing sacred, not a friendship, not a rivalry, not love, not hatred--not even a game of badminton played by children.

Sitting in Shotaro's lap was the diagram Kyouko had drawn to visually display what two dozen pages of documents had failed to illustrate. It was a simplified family tree, drawn to show only one connection--the biological relationship between the two of them.

Half-siblings; same father, different mothers.

And yet, as they realized just everything that this revelation implied, they also realized one extra thing.

This changed absolutely nothing.

Shoko, when she came back in the room, had to settle an absurdly loud shouting match as they picked a fight over nothing, trying to clear the air of things adults find of consuming importance, yet they could care less about.

She departed that evening grumbling about how one man continued to ruin her life, and he sneered as a studio musician asked him if he knew the girl who had just left.

If Saena thought she could elicit a reaction from her daughter with this information, she was wrong.

Her daughter's childhood friend, however, thought for quite some time before he was willing to accept the fact that she was now untouchable to him. And even longer after that before he started silently cheering for Tsuruga Ren to make his move.

Well, what other man would be good enough for his sister? He was a fairly wealthy 'gentleman' with a career that could only take the two of them forward. It wasn't like this bothered him at all. In time, he even forgot that once he had tried so valiantly, and so in vain, to win the one woman he never had a chance with.

* * *

_"Whaddya mean this blouse is unflattering? Who the hell do you think you _are_?!?!"_

_"I happen to be me, and that outfit looks horrible on you. Can't you change into something better?"_

_"I'm sorry if this offends you, you damn bastard, but this happens to be part of my wardrobe. Not everyone can afford designer clothing, you know."_

_"Wait...Don't tell me you got that on _clearance_, Kyouko."_

_"So what if I did?!?!"_

_A groan._

_"What the hell is that supposed to mean?!?!"_

_"Nothing, nothing...hey, why are you still here anyway? Don't you have a career to build?"_

_"What's that supposed to mean?!?! I took time out of my schedule to come here and tell you this, and all you want to know is when I'm leaving?!?!"_

_"Hey, hey, stop swinging those papers around! Ow! Look at what you did, you gave me a papercut!"_

_"Oh, grow up. I've suffered worse than a papercut, and if you hadn't been so damn sheltered, you would have too!"_

_"I happen to be an entertainer, you know. Being taken care of is part of the business."_

_A scream of rage._


End file.
